Dream a Little Dream
by rahleeyah
Summary: When Ingrid discovers the power to visit other people's dreams, she never considers the consequences. What began as a harmless experiment becomes a harrowing glimpse into her family's origins, and Ingrid's life will never be the same.


The first time, it was completely unintentional.

Ingrid spent the day at the library, as slow as it ever was in the fall with kids in school and the summer-only residents packed up and moved on in search of warmer climates. It had been as calm a day as she could remember since she'd learned the truth about herself and her family. Barb had begged off (too sick to come in) and so had Hudson (too hungover), and so Ingrid had spent the day virtually alone, immersing herself in a particularly interesting text about the supposed powers of ancient witches.

And it was that book that started all of it.

There was a long section devoted exclusively to dreams; divining meaning from dreams, using dreams to access the subconscious, controlling dreams, entering dreams…

_Entering dreams._

Now there was an idea that caught Ingrid's attention.

Before the day Joanna had grabbed her by the shoulders and said those two fateful words- _we're witches-_ Ingrid had been, as she called it, a rational skeptic. Everything had an explanation. Dreams weren't mystical or prophetic; dreams were manifestations of waking thoughts, pistons firing in the brain during the night, dwelling on the stressors and pleasures the body enjoyed while the sun was up. She used to have dreams about waking up, getting dressed, riding her bike into work; things she did every day.

Now, though, she wasn't so sure.

Freya had dreamt of Killian, a warning; Ingrid had dreamt of the dangers of trying to undo the curse she'd brought on herself after she raised Aunt Wendy from the dead, and those dreams had been harbingers, warnings of what was to come. Ingrid couldn't explain how she had dreamed of something she had never seen, never imagined, only to have it come true shortly thereafter.

Unless there was something more to the dream.

It was this idea that had led her to more books on the topic of dreams, ancient tomes from the collection (there sure were a lot of witchy books here; perhaps Ingrid ought to ask Joanna about that one day) that spoke of the power of dreams, and the power of those who could control them.

To step into someone else's dream, that was what fascinated Ingrid. What would it be like, to see what the people around you could see? What sort of power could be gained by knowing some else's innermost thoughts, fears, desires? Freya came by that sort of knowledge naturally, sensing auras, reading people's hearts; Ingrid had no such talent. But perhaps, with practice, she could make up for a lack of natural talent with an academic's careful research and tenacity.

That first time, she hadn't gone to sleep planning to try any of the techniques her research materials suggested. Everything she read spoke of talismans and pentagrams drawn in the dirt; Ingrid would need more time (a Saturday, perhaps?) to orchestrate and act on those designs. She had never considered, never suspected, that she could have a power like this just by _thinking_ about it.

No sooner had she closed her eyes than she was fast asleep, breath coming slow and steady, that deepest part of her mind easing itself to the surface. She left the world of life behind, and entered the world of dreams.

For a moment she could see herself, standing alone in her room. _No, that's not quite right_, she thought; she could see herself, a hazy outline of her living body, but she could feel herself, too. She told her arm to rise and it did; she made it happen, _felt_ it happen, and she watched it happen at the same time. She could see the bemused expression on her own face.

She told her feet to move, and she watched herself step away from the bedside, heading for the door that led from her room out into the hall.

Beyond her room everything was as it was in life; brightly painted walls, familiar faces smiling from the photographs, Freya's door across from her own. On a whim she pushed forward, silently opening the door to her sister's room and stepping inside.

Freya slept peacefully, curled on her side as had been her habit ever since they were children. Dark hair curled about her angelic face, and Ingrid smiled. Ingrid smiled, and she saw herself smile. She reached out, brushed a strand of hair off her sister's forehead-

And in an instant the image of Ingrid was no more. Her consciousness remained, but she was in Freya's body now, inside it and watching it, just as she had with her own form moments before.

Before she could take in her surroundings, make any observations at all, Ingrid was overwhelmed with the sense of _being _Freya. She could feel what Freya felt, remember what Freya remembered, just as real as if she were Freya herself. She felt the urge to wander, to do, to be, felt the distress over what had happened to Dash, and the rush of joy and lust that was Killian. The sensations overwhelmed her, being two people at once, and she started to shake her head.

Only it wasn't her head, and Ingrid couldn't control it.

Freya- Ingrid- was at the bar where she worked, behind the counter. A familiar space, and not an uncommon scenario for her beautiful sister to be dreaming of. The bar was loud and poorly lit, the music was blaring, the people were laughing, everything a blur of noise and color and life that revolved around Freya. She was slinging drinks now, not even having to take an order before a glass was filled and another customer was satisfied. Freya was filled with a simple sort of joy, the joy of being _present_, of being at the center of so many ecstatic, human moments. And at the end of the bar was Killian, watching her with that dark smile, and every time Freya looked at him- which she did quite a lot, Ingrid noticed- the dark haired girl's heart skipped a beat. There was a feeling of wholeness, of being exactly who she wanted to be, exactly where she wanted to be.

Through it all, Freya never seemed to notice that her sister was there, peeping in on a private moment. The thought that she could be here without Freya knowing it was exhilarating, but it also filled Ingrid with a certain guilt. Before the dream could go any further- and based on the way Freya's whole body jolted every time Killian looked at her, it was _definitely _going to go further- Ingrid began to look for a way out of the dream.

Just like that she was back in her sister's room, watching her own filmy body standing very still by the side of the bed. Carefully Ingrid slipped away, into her own room, into her own bed, her thoughts awhirl of possibilities.

* * *

The next night, Ingrid set out to wander the world of dreams with a purpose. She planned it out as she lay in her bed, carefully calculated thoughts dwelling on the possibility of visiting the dreams of her sleeping family members. She wasn't sure how much physical proximity had to do with it, but she decided to keep within a certain radius for now. Perhaps someday she would be able to expand, to wander into Barb's dreams, or Hudson's, or perhaps the dreams of someone she didn't even know.

Once again she drifted off to sleep, and once again her mind seemed to come alive, bringing her to stand beside her bed, inside her body and outside of it at the same time. She smiled, and she saw herself smile.

Ingrid made her way out of her room and down the hall, heading for the stairs that led up to the attic where Aunt Wendy was sleeping. Slipping into Freya's mind had been simple, a task performed without thought, but perhaps it would be more difficult with Wendy. Freya and Ingrid had spent countless lifetimes together; they were each other's rock, a safe port in the storm. Though she dearly loved her aunt, she knew their relationship was not as close as hers and Freya's, and she wanted to know how that would affect the process.

Wendy was sleeping, naked and, Ingrid noticed with a twinge of amusement, sprawled across the bed as though she were determined to take up every available inch of space. She was sleeping on her stomach, for which Ingrid was grateful- even asleep, driven by this hidden part of her mind, she still had a certain sense of propriety, and the sight of her naked aunt made her want to run from the room.

Instead she gingerly tiptoed across the space, though come to think of it perhaps it didn't matter how lightly she trod. Would Wendy be able to hear her anyway? Was a body that was not a body actually capable of making a sound? Another question to address later. She wanted to explore this newfound power of hers a bit more before she alerted her family, before they warded themselves against her and she was forced to practice only on their terms. A selfish thought, perhaps, but a thought born of a mind that loved discovery above all else.

Ingrid reached out and gently touched Wendy's face, just as she had Freya's the night before.

Nothing happened.

Ingrid frowned, and she saw herself frown.

_What now?_

She certainly wasn't about to give up. She raised her hand again, with a purpose, and murmured softly, words she did not recognize, words she did not understand, and found herself in Wendy's dream.

The first thing she noticed was that while she was definitely _Wendy, _they were not in Wendy's body. They were instead in the body of a cat, the same dainty black cat Ingrid had seen the first time she met her aunt. The second thing she noticed was the pain.

She could feel the two warring consciousnesses, the Wendy that was inhabiting this cat now, prowling through this dark, ethereal forest, and the Wendy that she was in life, the heavy weight of all the centuries she had lived, of all that she had lost. Ingrid feel Wendy's guilt, her sorrow, over the events that had led to Ingrid's death more than a hundred years ago; Ingrid could feel the sharp, gut-wrenching devastation that had been Joanna's rage; Ingrid could feel the desolation of their separation, and the joy at their reunion; through it all, she could still feel the fear, the anger that Wendy had felt the moment they were cast out from Asgard. Ingrid could feel _everything._

And she knew that Wendy carried those feelings with her everywhere she went, knew that though the woman might be able to forget for a minute or even an hour, the hurt always resurfaced

She concentrated, and she could remember, too. Could remember a time when Wendy was not Wendy, but the goddess Bil, the goddess of the moon, her power directing the flow of the tides, the very balance of life in Midgard. Outside of Wendy's memories, Ingrid could remember, too; she could remember after her very first bit of magic how Wendy had insisted that everything had a price, every action a consequence. Small wonder, as it was Wendy who had written those rules in the stars from the very moment of her own creation. Ingrid could have lost herself forever in those memories of their ancient homeland, of glories come and gone before she had ever existed, in this life or any other. The action of the dream held little interest for her compared to that well of memory, fraught though it may be with horror and loss that Ingrid felt as keenly as if she had lived it herself.

_No more, little one, _the thought echoed in Ingrid's mind (that was also Wendy's mind) a thought that rung out in a voice that was Wendy's, but was also Bil's, ancient and powerful and steadfast.

Ingrid found herself in her own bed in an instant, mind reeling from the sudden separation and the little bit of knowledge she had gained. She could feel it slipping through her fingers, images that had been so powerful, so present, fading into nothing more than the haze of a dream.

She leapt to her feet and rushed to her desk, desperate for a pen and paper to write down as much as she could, but before she had gotten any farther than _Wendy is Bil, _the door swung open to reveal her aunt, mussed from sleep and wrapped in a blue silk rob, watching her with eyes as silver and as ancient and as knowing as the moon itself.

"Ingrid-" she began, but the young woman cut her off, desperate to explain herself, to retain some of her own autonomy.

"Please Aunt Wendy, please don't make me stop, not now! I'm just learning, I'm being careful, I'm not going to hurt anyone! I just want to know how- I mean, how can I do this? How is this possible? Think of all the things I could learn-" the words came out in a rush, and Wendy stopped them as quickly as she could.

"I'm not going to make you stop, Ingrid. You're an adult, you make your own choices. But I want you to consider, really consider, what you're doing." Wendy crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed, facing Ingrid, eyes intent. "You aren't just going for a ride, you're stepping _inside_ someone. Think of all the private, terrible things you've done or thought or said that you never want anyone to know about, and then think about how you would feel if I could share those experiences with you whenever I chose, regardless of your feelings on the matter."

Ingrid gaped at her, crestfallen. She had considered, it of course, considered what a massive invasion of privacy it was, but… there was so much to learn!

"Who else have you visited?" Wendy asked.

"Just you and Freya," Ingrid answered quickly. "I didn't even know I could do it until last night! It was an accident Aunt Wendy, I swear."

Wendy laughed. "I have no doubt you could enter Freya's dream accidently, but what you did tonight was deliberate, Ingrid. What you don't know is that while you're in the dream, you're vulnerable, too. Freya probably never noticed you, because she probably never considered that such a thing was possible. I, on the other hand, have been through this song and dance before, and I knew you were there after only a few moments. And as soon as I knew you were there-"

"You were inside my head, too," Ingrid finished for her.

Wendy nodded. "There might be no danger at all in wandering around in my thoughts, Ingrid, but that's because I love you. What if I were someone less understanding? What if I were the sort of person who would decide to hurt you just for intruding? What if you decided to hurt me? Do you have any idea what you're capable of in that state?"

Ingrid shook her head, aghast. _What you don't know about magic could fill a library…_

"I won't do it ever again, Wendy, I promise." There, she'd said it, and she meant it. _Someone could hurt me in the dream? _Ingrid shuddered at the very possibility.

Wendy smiled. "Well, maybe not by yourself, but it couldn't hurt to explore with someone who is willing to teach you. Someone who wouldn't mind letting you in their head."

"You?" Ingrid asked, trying not to be hopeful, and Wendy shook her head.

"I'm no good at the dream stuff. You'd need someone else for that. Someone who is very, _very _talented in that department. Unfortunately for you, the only person I can think of is someone who would never, ever willingly share her memories with you."

"Who?" Ingrid asked, but Wendy was already on her feet, heading for the door.

"Good night, Ingrid," she said with a sad little smile, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

The third night, Ingrid did her best to think of anything but walking through other people's dreams. She thought about the library, about work; they were upgrading the cataloguing system, moving everything into the computers, and it was a gargantuan, hideously boring task. She focused on her plans for the next day, on planning Barb's baby shower…

And she found herself standing beside the bed, inside her body and watching it, too.

She had every intention of just sleeping tonight, dreaming her own dreams. All she had to do was crawl back into her bed, and sleep, and everything would be as it should be. No more invasions of privacy, no risk of danger…

But she was already walking out of her room.

There was one last person sleeping in the house, one last person whose dreams Ingrid wanted to share. Just a glimpse, just a moment, and she would leave, she promised herself. _Just a minute. _

Inside her room, Joanna was blessedly, blissfully asleep, the lines of care and worry the creased at the corners of her eyes and mouth during her waking hours smoothed into the peace of slumber, and Ingrid smiled to see it. Ingrid smiled, and she saw herself smile. _One last time, _she thought firmly as she reached out, and brushed her fingertips over her mother's hair.

Joanna was remembering.

It was like nothing Ingrid had ever felt before. Inside joanna's mind there was Ingrid, frightened and small, and there was Joanna as she was now, as sorrowful as the last bright bloom growing alone on the eve of winter, and there was Joanna as she had been, beautiful, terrible, powerful, and ignorant of all the horror that was to come. That last was not Joanna at all, but Skadi, goddess of the hunt, mother of the mountains, and her power was incomprehensible. Ingrid had always known her mother was powerful, strong, and fierce; how many times had Wendy remarked on her talent, on what a _badass_ she was? And yet, until now, Ingrid had never really understood what it meant. What her mother was capable of. Now she knew. Joanna was capable of anything.

Just as she was beginning to adjust to the feeling of that power coursing through every vein, igniting every nerve, shimmering and vibrating with a pulse that was enough to nearly drive Ingrid out on the spot, the waves of grief broke over her, and if Ingrid had been in her own body, she would have crumpled to the ground and wept.

She could feel the jagged edges of her mother's heart, the way it had shattered again and again, never to be healed; first the war against her own father, then the loss of her son, then the loss of her daughters, each time a dagger twisting in her gut, each time an ache that could never be eased, no matter how often they were reborn to her. How Joanna could stand it, Ingrid did not know, but it was more than she could bear. She tried to step away-

And found that she could not. Some force held her there, some power beyond her own knowing demanding that she stay, that she finish what she had come here to do.

With a terrible struggle she was able to surface from the swirling darkness inside her mother's soul, to look out from Joanna's eyes and see the dream around her.

They were on a beach, unlike any Ingrid had ever imagined. The sand went on for miles in every direction save before her, where a crystal sea swelled and heaved on a light breeze that carried with it a sense of hope. The sun- no, _suns, _there were more than one- danced alongside the stars and moon in a clear summer sky, and off in the distance, almost beyond sight, a tree seemed to grow from the very midst of the ocean, its branches so large that Ingrid's mind could not accept that they were real, its trunk lost beneath foam-crested waves.

Joanna lay basking in the sun, more beautiful than she had ever been in life, a sort of golden haze about her, younger and without a care. Her dark hair fanned out behind her head and her toes dug in the soft white sand, a smile dancing across her face. She seemed to be waiting for something.

She _was _waiting; Ingrid could feel Joanna- _Skadi-_ alight with a mischievous sort of anticipation. Ingrid dug through the mess that was the tangle of their thoughts, trying to puzzle it out, but the answer came before she found it, in the form of her father, striding out of the ocean with a smile on his face.

It was Victor, of that there could be no doubt, but he was more than that- _Njord_, Joanna's voice seemed to whisper. And there, before Ingrid could even think to wonder, was the truth of him. _Njord, _god of the sea, husband of Skadi, kind and deep and knowing, and -Joanna remembered, even if Skadi had yet to discover- doomed. He smiled at his wife, and between them there was all the joy, all the love, all the unbreakable bonds built over the lifetime of a god and his goddess.

"How did you find me?" Joanna- _Skadi-_ asked as her husband lay down beside her on the sand, stretching himself along his side, reaching out to run his hands over her hair.

"I would like to say it is because I know you so well, my love, that your very existence is a palpable tug upon my heart, drawing me ever nearer to you," he smiled, and Ingrid could feel the effect of that smile down to Skadi's sun warmed toes, buried in the sand. "The truth, however, is less romantic. You have led me on a merry chase."

What it must be, to feel like this toward another person, Ingrid wondered. She had thought once that she was in love, but she was inside Joanna's body now, could feel what love truly was, and she knew she had never experienced its like.

"I hope your reward will be well worth the effort," Skadi answered him in a warm, heady voice. He leaned across the sand to kiss her, and Ingrid could _feel-_

A rush of Puritanical guilt was what Ingrid could feel, as Skadi drew her husband closer and Ingrid could feel the heat of his shoulders beneath her hands. Before things could get much worse for her- God, how tumultuous it was, to be Ingrid, desperately trying to close her eyes, and to be Skadi, desperate for his touch, and to be Joanna, devastated by the loss of him – they were somewhere else entirely.

In the woods, it seemed, still lost in the tangle of Joanna's memories. Skadi was there, and Njord, only they were Joanna and Victor now, the names they had chosen for themselves after being cast down from Asgard. Those memories were lost to her, though Ingrid tried to find them; _what happened, _she wanted to scream, _please, tell me what happened!_

Victor was trying to lead Joanna away, but his wife would not obey. Inside her mind Ingrid could feel the war between this Joanna of memory and the Joanna who was dreaming; her mother frantically wanted to leave this place, to forget, but she was trapped here. Here, moments before Freya and Ingrid were to be executed for the very first time.

"Please, Joanna," he begged in a hoarse voice, his eyes shining in the moonlight, "please, we have to go, if they find us-"

"If they find _us?"_ her voice was ragged, and Ingrid could feel her rage and her terror. "They have our daughters, Victor, they have the girls!" he started to speak but she would not let him. "I have lost one child, I will not lose another." She yanked her arm away and then they were running through the woods, Victor calling after her urgently, Joanna as ignorant of his words as she was the scrape of brambles and branches against her skin as she ran as hard and as fast as she could toward the sound of an angry mob.

On the edge of the trees the crowd had gathered, and Joanna pushed her way through the hordes of people whose clothes identified them as the early settlers, earning herself grumbles and curses as she rushed toward the center of their attention. The crowd swallowed Victor behind her, his voice lost in the din.

_No, _Joanna's thoughts seemed to vibrate through her head, _Please, not again,_ but the memory wouldn't stop. As she reached the front of the crowd, the stakes came into view. Freya, bound to one, defiant, Ingrid to the other, weeping. That gave Ingrid a start. She could see herself, but she could not _feel_ herself, could not sense what this Ingrid of so long ago was thinking. Who had Ingrid been? What was her story? She knew the answers were in Joanna's mind, but they were lost to her, lost beneath a swell of fear.

Before she could move, before she could speak, it was done, the fires were lit, Joanna was screaming-

And Victor grabbed her, lifted her bodily from the ground, and carried her back through the crowd while she clawed at his face and neck, desperate to get away, until the screams of her daughters faded and all she was left with was horror.

The dream shifted, changed; Joanna was lying on a hard bed inside a rustic farmhouse. Inside her mind Ingrid was reeling and Joanna, present-day Joanna, was weeping, and Joanna of the memory was slowly pulling herself into consciousness. Victor sat at her bedside, a worried expression on his tired face, and Bil- _no, Wendy- _was pacing nearby.

"She's awake," Victor said quietly, urgently, reaching out to take his wife's hand. Wendy was beside them in a moment.

Joanna opened her mouth to speak, to ask for food, for water, to ask what day it was, but she couldn't muster the will to do even that much. Fryr- _Frederick, we decided to call him Frederick-_ was lost to her, stolen by the evil that had infected her father, and now her girls were lost as well, stolen by the evil that had infected these humans. There was part of Joanna, a part that would always be Skadi, that burned with the desire to wipe every last one of those human creatures from the face of the earth, and Ingrid realized with dread that she could, if she wanted to.

She could, but she wouldn't. Ingrid knew her now, Joanna who had been Skadi, knew her nature, her purpose. She was creation, she was the nurturing hand; destruction, devastation, these things were her antithesis, and no matter how great her rage, how terrible her grief, she would never unleash her mighty powers to do such a thing.

"Don't move, my love," Victor said, reaching out for a glass of water and handing it to her. The water helped, kept her rooted in the present, but it filled her with dread, too, for when she tried to hand the glass back to him, it bumped against the swell of her stomach.

Joanna began to panic.

Wendy was there in a moment, running soothing hands over her hair, whispering a spell to calm her, to force her to relax long enough for to hear the explanation.

"It's the curse," she said, and Ingrid felt Joanna's confusion. _The curse? _

Before this moment, Joanna had not known, had not guessed, what the curse would be. Her father had proclaimed it, but had banished them to discover their fates for themselves.

Wendy took a deep breath. "I died not three days ago, Joanna, on my way here. I was trampled by a horse. I went to the underworld; your sister was not happy to see me."

_Your sister?_

Of course, both of Joanna's consciousnesses seemed to answer at once. Bil was not Skadi's sister, not by birth, though they had sworn it in blood. Hel was Skadi's sister, the keeper of the dead.

_But how-_

Ingrid didn't get an answer to her question, because Wendy was still speaking. "My curse is this- since I have always been fond of the form of a cat, I am doomed to a cat's nine lives. Eight times I can die, and the ninth will be final."

"What does that have to do with this?" Wendy's spell had left Joanna weakened, her senses muted to the turmoil inside, but she gestured towards her massive stomach.

"That's Ingrid," Wendy answered softly.

Even through the spell there was a riot of emotions, of fear and hope and sadness so deep they threatened to consumer her. Victor squeezed her hand.

"Your curse is this- to lose your girls over and over, always on the same day, only to have the cycle start again. Forever."

Joanna began to scream.

* * *

Ingrid woke with a start, shaking and sobbing and covered in sweat, but mercifully in her own bed, in her own body. Joanna was sitting next to her, running a gentle hand over her hair. Ingrid reached for her, and her mother held her close, just as she had when Ingrid was small.

Ingrid tried to choke out an apology, but Joanna murmured soothing sounds, and let her weeping run its course. When the shaking had stopped, she took her daughter by the chin, lifting her face so they could look in one another's eyes.

It could never be unseen. That face Ingrid knew so well was forever changed, for it was no longer just Joanna, the art teacher, the mother, the witch. She was Skadi, the goddess, older than time itself, and her grief was deeper than the oceans her husband had loved so dearly, more constant than the moon her sister had created, more unchanging than the mountains she herself had called into being. She was powerful and strong and she was broken, and Ingrid could never look at her again without seeing the truth of it painted in every line of her face.

"Do you see, my love?" Joanna asked in a low voice. "Do you see why I have kept so much from you?"

"I'm so sorry, so sorry," Ingrid whispered it over and over, and Joanna let her. They both knew it would never be enough, and they both knew it would have to be.


End file.
